by Herta Feely
Sunlight danced on the river, a sight that today did not stir him. Instead it reminded him of the stained water in the bathtub, Phoebe’s body floating there; he’d been sure she was dead. His little girl. Dead. A sob erupted from deep within.
He startled when a hand gently caressed his shoulder. Instead of swallowing his tears, Ron turned and buried his head in Sandy’s midriff. All the pain he’d choked back erupted into an endless stream with Sandy stroking his head and muttering, “There, there, it’s all right. I’m here. I’m here. Let it out.”
Georgetown Academy’s modern, high-tech performing arts center had been constructed a few years earlier with the generous $200 million donation of two dozen donors, all of them alumni. On days when there were guest speakers or special meetings it alternated as an assembly hall. While normally going to and from such events served as an excuse for incessant chatter among the girls and rowdiness among the boys, today’s assembly featured a subdued group of students. Almost funereal. They trudged into the large, expensively-furnished auditorium and took their seats without being chided.
There was Skyla and her troupe of friends looking appropriately downcast; Dylan and Noah and Emma, though she was without her usual sidekick, Jessie, who had not been seen or heard from in several days; and the rest of the ninth grade, minus a few absentees. In other words, all the kids who knew Phoebe, and all of them aware of what had transpired.
Noah was lost in thought about Phoebe when he noticed Jessie plop down into the chair on his right. He frowned. In his mind, her hair-brained logic around the dance had caused Phoebe to lose faith in him. But even more than that, on hearing of the exchange that led to the attack on Phoebe, which revolved around some supposed thing Phoebe had said about Jessie, and then blaming her for the police thing, well, he really wanted nothing more to do with her. The whole thing was so lame. She was bad news and he turned his head away. He almost got up to switch seats, but just then Ms. Kendall cleared her throat and tapped the microphone on the stage, imploring a few last stragglers to “grab a seat, any seat, and listen up.”
Alison Kendall, neatly dressed in a navy blue pantsuit and white silk collarless blouse, stood behind the lectern, adjusted the microphone, and began. “We are here to discuss an awful event that occurred a week ago. Actually that’s an understatement. It was a horrific event.” She scanned her audience to secure everyone’s attention. A few students shifted in their seats.
“First, let me give you a brief update on Phoebe Murrow’s condition because I know that you are all concerned, as are all of the teachers and staff at Georgetown Academy. At the present time, she remains in a coma, and the doctors have no way of knowing whether or not she will survive, and if she does, whether or not there will be brain damage.
“I imagine this is difficult for you to hear, but I tell you this bluntly because it’s important that you recognize people’s behavior has consequences. Extreme and disastrous consequences even.” She stopped and allowed her eyes to sweep from one side of the large room to the other.
She continued. “Nothing can change what has happened to Phoebe, but we can take steps to prevent something like this from happening again. So…let it be known that online bullying, or any bullying for that matter, is absolutely unacceptable at this school and we have zero tolerance for such behavior. There are and will be repercussions.”
A chill air sucked all noise out of the room, a place normally so friendly and full of life that it almost seemed as though the entire group was collectively holding its breath. No squirming, no whispering, nothing, not even the rustle of paper, a nervous cough, titter or giggle as they waited for Ms. Kendall to resume.
“I know that news travels fast, and so you may already be aware that several of your fellow students have been suspended for what happened last Monday. We are taking time to examine each person’s involvement on a case-by-case basis before taking further action.” She allowed the words to sink in, and as she did, she thought of the pushback she’d gotten from two of the students’ parents. Not only had they cursed her, but they’d threatened to withdraw considerable financial support pledged at the beginning of the year. More importantly, they asked her why the school was involved at all since no laws existed to prevent cyberbullying.
Alison couldn’t believe they’d taken such a stance, but then both of those parents were attorneys. Sadly, they were right. No laws existed, so no law had been broken. Which meant there was no way to bring law enforcement to bear on the situation, as she’d learned in her brief conversation with Isabel Winthrop.
Furthermore, she knew this incident had the potential to make or break her career here, but she was willing to take that risk. She refused to be indecisive in a situation as dire as this. Not only was every parent and student watching her, not only was the board discussing this and advising her, but the community at large and even the media had her actions in their crosshairs. Word had spread quickly about what happened to Phoebe Murrow, and her phone had been ringing nonstop. She needed to be stern and unwavering, and above all else she needed to do the right thing. Furthermore, a private school, one as elite as Georgetown Academy, had much greater latitude in its involvement in the activities of its students, on or off campus.
If the decision had been hers alone she would already have expelled the students known to have participated in the online intimidation, an incident that might, in fact, turn out to be the cause of Phoebe’s death. But the Board had insisted the students get a fair hearing before taking such final action. Yet it wasn’t about fairness. If the child came without the vestige of wealth, he or she would probably get the boot.
From everything Alison knew, Jessie Littleton was not involved, and she hoped it remained that way because she was another student whose expulsion would be complicated by the fact that her father had committed over a million dollars to the capital campaign, a sum to be doled out over the next four years. Clever, she now thought. But she also liked Jessie, who she’d noticed had entered the assembly late.
Actually, Alison Kendall relished a good fight. Especially for a worthy cause. It’s what she was trained to do. She looked out over the attentive student body.
“I will end with this final note,” she said. “Though all of you are probably aware that someone by the name of Shane initiated the Facebook attack on Phoebe, it has come to my attention that this person, if I may call him that, is not a student at Walter Johnson High as he claimed to be. If any of you here know anything that might be helpful in discovering who he is, and where he can be found, please report it to me.
“It will be much appreciated, not only by us here at the school, but also by Phoebe and her family,” Alison Kendall continued. “Furthermore, I will look favorably on anyone who is truthful and comes forward to take responsibility for his or her actions. As you know, that’s a basic tenet of our school, and we take it seriously. Being ethical, honest, and responsible.” She cleared her throat.
A few students shifted in their seats. Noah felt Jessie’s eyes on him, but refused to glance her way.
“There is a reward being offered by Phoebe’s family for anyone providing information that might lead to the person behind this. Regardless, I encourage you to reveal anything you know that might shed light on this…well, this entire awful situation. And please, students, don’t think of it as tattling, because it isn’t. Know that you’re being a responsible citizen who refuses to give in to peer pressure. That’s all I have for now. Any questions?”
She was about to dismiss them when an arm cloaked in a black sleeve went up. It was Emma. Alison admired her for being such a little rebel, in style and substance. “Yes?” she said.
“I want to announce that a group of us are getting together today to form a support group for Phoebe and her parents. I thought we could start by making her a card and getting everyone to sign it?”
“Excellent idea, Emma. I’ll let you organize that…if you need my help, just let me know. Maybe the art teachers would like to help? A
nyone else?”
A little self-consciously, Noah raised his hand. He suggested the idea of coordinating students to visit Phoebe and read to her. “I’ve already checked with her parents.” He mentioned the constraints of ICU visits – two visitors at a time – and also received Ms. Kendall’s blessing.
She glanced around for any further hands, and seeing none, dismissed them.
Sandy continued to murmur soothing things in Ron’s ear. “It’ll be all right. You’ll see. Ph…ph…Phoebe,” she said, stumbling over the name, “she’ll come out of the coma and she’ll be good as new.” She sat beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders and the other caressing his leg, his hand, his cheek. “It’ll be all right,” she whispered, telling herself the same.
“Have you gotten any leads on this awful character…what’s his name…Shane?”
He shook his head, his eyes like a downcast dog’s. “No, but Isabel’s doing everything she can to find out.”
“Of course she is, I just can’t believe someone would, well, do, that,” she said, then stared out at the middle of the river where several groups of college students rowed past them in sleek boats that skimmed the water. “Come on, let’s take a little walk,” she said. “I promised to get your mind off things and that’s what I’m gonna do.”
She took him by the hand and led him down a few steps toward the water, then turned to the right behind Jack’s Boathouse. From the road no one could see them here; only a few bike riders had even passed by the entire time they’d sat on the bench, at least half an hour.
Scarlet was not a color Sandy often wore, but that’s what she’d chosen today. A pale gray tank top under a scarlet sweater with pearl gray buttons. It was tight and she could only button the sweater to just beneath her breasts, the better to show them off, she’d thought as she was getting dressed and assessing her reflection in the mirror. Her black pants were tight too, like a second skin, but she had practice unzipping them. No underwear either. Not even a thong.
Ron said nothing, just followed her like a puppy until they came to a halt. He leaned against the structure’s gray planks of wood, which the sun had warmed, and Sandy stood in front of him, placing her back against his chest, gazing out at the water as she pulled his arms around her. She held them tight. And he let her. She felt him relax. They stood that way, like a couple in love, watching the flowing river, the silence ruptured by a few squawking gulls and a helicopter passing overhead.
Ron’s hands, pressed against her belly, felt warm. Slowly, she moved them up to cup her breasts. At the same time she tightened her buttocks and pressed against him, feeling for hardness, which came soon enough. His hands broke free of hers and slid beneath her tank top, beneath her bra and onto her nipples, which he rolled between his fingers.
Moments later, she was kissing him, slipping her tongue between his lips. He responded with a fierce, needy desire that roused her.
Together they found a more secluded spot nearby. In a matter of seconds Sandy had stripped off her pants and shed her sweater, and Ron had pulled out his cock. The rest was easy.
Afterward, the chill air gave Sandy reason to zip and button hurriedly. As he watched her, his eyes taking in every inch, he said in a hushed tone, “You’ll keep this quiet, right?”
Though she’d expected something like this, it disappointed her. She lifted her eyes to meet his and peered at him, like an abandoned fawn, but said nothing. She put on her coat. “Take care, Ron,” she finally said and left.
After Ms. Kendall’s departure noise filled the void: The shuffle of feet, the low murmur of voices, a few kids calling out to each other, nervous laughter. Noah again felt Jessie staring at him. “Why do you keep looking at me?” he said in a hushed voice then turned to follow Dylan, already halfway down the row.
Noah had barely taken a step when he felt Jessie’s hand on his arm. “Noah,” she said.
He shrugged her off and continued moving away from her. But she followed him. “Please,” she whispered to his back, “I need to talk to you. It’s really important.”
When he finally turned to look at her he saw tears glistening in her eyes. “What do you want?” he said harshly.
“Not here.” Her eyes looked puffy and she seemed exhausted, a far cry from the bubbly, exuberant Jessie he was familiar with.
Reluctantly he agreed and told her to follow him. He moved slowly so that most people had passed them before he veered off into one of the small rooms in the building where students took private lessons from assorted music tutors. He really didn’t want to be seen with her.
He closed the door. “So what’s up?”
“You hate me, don’t you?”
Unsure how to respond, he said, “If you’re here to tell me that you had nothing to do with it, you can just stop, okay? It’s obvious you put one of your friends up to saying that stuff to Phoebe. Or… are you here to confess, is that it?”
When he saw how miserable she looked, he stopped. “Okay, sorry, but what do you want?”
“I know who Shane is.” Her words came out in a whisper, but they punctured Noah’s self-righteousness. He took a step back.
“You know?” he said. “Then why aren’t you telling Ms. Kendall?”
She stared at the floor, silent.
“How do you know? Who is he?”
She licked her dried, chapped lips. “Not he.”
He peered at her quizzically.
“She.” She gave him a beseeching look. As if she wanted him to guess. But then added, “My mother. My mother did it.”
Confused, Noah continued to stare at Jessie. “Your mother?”
She nodded, then told him how she’d found her mother and had stopped her, but also that her mother had used her gift of persuasion to get her to dismantle Shane’s Facebook page. She wasn’t sure whether that had been a good or a bad thing.
“But why? Why would your mother do that?”
“Because she’s crazy,” she said, lines creasing her brow.
“Yeah, obviously,” he said, trying to control the swirl of thoughts and emotions that engulfed him. “But why are you telling me?” He was still uncertain whether to believe her. He’d known Jessie to lie. Or at least exaggerate. But this was pretty serious.
“Because, like Ms. Kendall said, we have an obligation to tell the truth, and I had to tell someone. I trust you, Noah. You need to tell Ms. Kendall or Phoebe’s parents, or something. But nobody can know I told you.” She was about to break down.
“You want me to tell?”
She nodded. “You know I can’t.”
“No matter who I tell,” he said cautiously, “you know it’s gonna spread like…like freakin’ wildfire… the whole school will know. You know that, right?”
Staring off into the mid-distance she nodded. “I’ll probably have to leave, school I mean, but—” she left the thought dangling, as though she hadn’t gotten that far in her thinking.
A thousand questions ran through Noah’s mind. He especially wondered about the image of Shane. “Whose photo was that?” he asked.
She again lowered her gaze to her feet and shrugged.
He didn’t believe she didn’t know. “So you had nothing to do with it?”
She shook her head. “Nothing, I swear, other than getting him off Facebook. You have to believe me. I would never do such a thing. I promise. I’m as sorry about what happened to Phoebe as you are.”
He stared at her skeptically. “So exactly what am I supposed to say about how I found out?”
“I was hoping you’d think of something. You’re smart.” Her eyes latched onto his; they seemed filled with fear and desperation. He’d only seen such looks on people in movies, ones about to get caught. Or killed. “I wish I could see Phoebe?” She seemed to be asking if he thought it was a possibility.
“I don’t think so. Not once her parents hear this. I can’t imagine they would want that. Can you?”
Chapter Four
Around five o’clock that
day, Isabel’s toughest at the hospital yet, she came home, having put her work on hold indefinitely. She’d hoped to avoid this, thinking that by keeping her thoughts positive, somehow Phoebe would emerge from her coma, brain intact, and she’d be back at work in no time. Cerrtainly by today, one week later, but that hadn’t happened.
It pained her to reassign all her clients – she’d thought a little work might ease her through the day – but her mind simply spun off every few minutes; her concentration, on which she prided herself, was shot.
She spent some time with Jackson, but after fifteen minutes of chatting idly, as he sat at the kitchen counter eating cookies and drinking milk while she stood across from him with a cup of coffee, it became clear to both of them that her attempt at acting normal was anything but, and so, with wisdom that far exceeded his ten years, he excused her from her motherly duty.
“Mom,” he said, “I get it. You’re worried about Phoebe. I am too. Just do what you need to and don’t worry about me.”
She looked at him with tremendous affection and went to his side to hug him. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry we’re neglecting you. This is a tough time for all of us. Thank you for being such a grown-up about it. You’re wonderful, you truly are. You know that don’t you?”
With a grin, he said, “Yup, I know, Mom.”
Which is how she found herself upstairs in Phoebe’s room, lying on her bed beside Hagrid, staring at the ceiling, the same ceiling that her daughter had stared at countless times. “Oh, Phoebe, Phoebe. I’m so sorry.” She stroked the cat mindlessly as her eyes traversed the beams, from one end to the other, to the mobile of glow-in-the-dark stars and planets that floated overhead and had since Phoebe moved into this room at the age of seven.
Isabel recalled that move, how Phoebe had said she wasn’t afraid to be all the way up here by herself, but Isabel knew that the small nightlight she installed and the bright glow that the mobile cast over the room had helped her sleep. It showed that underneath it all, her daughter was a brave girl, or at least tried to be.